


The best thing about a secret

by redtoes



Series: Good, better, best [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/M, Reference to Canonical Character Death, Sex, Snark, five things, hiding from the press, is it still five things when there's already been two sets of five things?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoes/pseuds/redtoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Felicity and Oliver kept their relationship a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The magazine

"You're an idiot," Thea says as she hits Oliver in the head with a rolled-up magazine.

"What?" He says, turning to look at her over the back of the couch.

"You know what," she glares. She lifts the magazine to swing it again and he ducks out of the way. It's not like it hurts but it's the principle of the thing. He doesn't get hit in the head these days unless he wants to be.

"No," she says, "you don't get to avoid this. You get hit with a magazine until I say otherwise."

"Thea," Oliver says, standing up and holding out his hands placatingly. "I'm not sure what I've done to upset you..."

"She took down queenwatch.com," Thea says, "did you know that? I got flowers and an apologetic note from the fucker. She did that."

"Felicity?"

"Yes, Felicity. Unless you're dating another hacker I don't know about." Her eyes narrow, "and that would be just like you. Is this your new type? Women that are far too good for you and commit online crime in your name?"

"Thea," Oliver says, "I don't know what you've heard-"

"Heard!" She snaps, "try read!" She thrusts the magazine at him.

The glossy pages unroll in his hands to display pictures of him. Large, candid photos of him kissing other women, leaving clubs with his arms around two girls at a time, appearing at a premiere with a model hanging off him.

"What did you do?" Thea says, "I thought you had changed."

"No," Oliver says flatly, "I haven't changed at all."

Thea huffs.

"We broke up a month ago. Decided we were better as friends," Oliver says. "I'm not cheating on her. You don't need to defend the sisterhood." He had wanted to explain the situation - the plan - to Thea, but there wasn't a good enough explanation for why he was so worried about Felicity that didn't touch on his other nocturnal activities. She was already skirting close enough to the Hood with her involvement with Roy and his own quest for redemption.

It's horrible. They’re not broken up but it feels like they are and that as much as he saw the logic in this plan, and even appreciated the idea of it, carrying it out has been nothing close to fun.

"A month," Thea says, "figures."

"Why?" He suspects he knows the answer but he can't help but ask her anyway.

"It's been that long since I saw you smile." Thea says, whirling on her heel like the drama queen she is and storming out.

Oliver looks down at the magazine in his hands, the pictures documenting his 'return to bachelor life,' and finds he can't quite say she's wrong.

It’s been a month of no Felicity. Oh, she still helps out, working from the secure server room at Queen Consolidated, but he hasn’t seen her more from anything other than a distance since the day of the Photograph. There have been emails and phone calls and one particularly memorable and enjoyable Skype call, but he hasn’t seen her, and hasn’t been able to touch her for a month.

Oliver hasn’t trained this hard or this intensely since the island.

Diggle refused to fight with him after the second week.

The plan was to go six weeks. Six weeks of airheads and heiresses and public appearances. Six weeks of annoyed women calling his phone wondering when their second date will be and why he didn’t go home with them. Six weeks of what used to be his life, what used to be his heart’s desire (at least for those moments when he and Laurel were on the outs), and is now nothing more than a hindrance.

By then the press should be mollified and things can go back to the way they should be.  With a few extra precautions that is.

As a man who spent five years trapped on an island he never though six weeks could feel so long.

Tommy wasn’t the only one who grew out of the playboy life.

Oliver is starting to seriously doubt he’ll be able to play the part of one of one of the idle rich for any real length of time. Maybe they need to think about a new cover story.

He slumps down on the sofa, looking at the magazine.

There are at least five photographs of him on these pages - each time with a different woman. And each of those woman is - at least in the eyes of the press - much more interesting and gossip-worthy than Felicity Smoak.

He hates the logic of it, but it's true. In these terms, Felicity is a nobody.

He hates that there are picture of him playing the part, hates that he's had to smile and kiss and touch anyone who isn't her. He wonders what she thinks of her master plan. Wonders if she's hating this as much as he is.

She keeps emailing him article links and animated gifs about his previous night's activities, generally accompanied by email messages made up entirely of exclamation marks and emoticons. 

It doesn't seem like she hates it. She seems more amused by his reactions. He called her to apologise for the first picture that featured him kissing another woman and she couldn't stop laughing for five minutes. "You just look so uncomfortable," she crowed. "I don't understand how everyone can't see it. It looks so fake."

"They don't know me like you do," he had replied. 

"Well," she had cackled, "that is kind of the point of a secret identity."

Oliver looks down at the magazine once more.  At least there aren't any pictures of Felicity. That part of the plan, at least, is working.

He looks up, sees the open fire in the grate, and throws the magazine the few feet to land in the flames. The pages curl and blacken as they are consumed. He feels slightly better now that he can't see the evidence anymore.

He shakes his head and heads for his room. The other part of this plan has kept him away from the club basement more than he likes. Right now Diggle is making appearances as the Hood every night Oliver has a public event, taking advantage of the press' presence to strengthen his alibi. 

He hates to say it, but with Felicity keeping her distance and Diggle busy maintaining the illusion of the Hood, he's more than a little lonely. 

He hadn't really thought about how empty his life was without them. And Tommy, of course. He misses Tommy every day - more so recently with his retread of history, revisiting of the kind of parties and events where he and Tommy used to spend their time. 

Oliver steps into his bedroom and closes the door. He doesn't bother with the light. He's lived in this room for almost thirty years (those five years excepted) and even in the days when he was just back from the island, he could still navigate around it blindfolded. 

Then, out if the darkness, there comes a giggle.

Oliver listens, tilting his head. He considers options - a giggle means whoever is waiting here is unlikely to be after the Hood - his enemies don't giggle. It's far more likely someone (a girl) has snuck in.  This used to happen from time to time back in the day.

Back then he'd always enjoyed it.

Now he just wants to go to sleep.

"Okay," he says, walking to the bedside table to switch the light on, "show yourself."

He's not worried. He's dealt with this before. He's so far past this as a possible threat that he's already mentally composing the note he'll send to Diggle about upgrading the house security. Again.

So when arm slips around his waist and a soft hand runs down his arm he's caught somewhat by surprise. 

He moves instinctively, flipping his assailant sideways, which would have had much more of a destructive impact if he wasn't standing so that they landed on his bed.

Oliver rubs his forehead. Now he's going to have a whole heap of difficulty getting this mystery girl out of the room. 

He flicks the switch on the light and the darkness is abruptly gone. 

He turns, readying himself for a conversation about personal boundaries and the reasons why you don't break into someone's bedroom, no matter how many times you've seen them on TV. 

Then he stops. Because the girl sprawled among the cushions is Felicity.

Felicity in a short brown wig, a trench coat and no glasses.

"Felicity?"

She grins.

"Diggle snuck me in," she says, smiling widely. "Something about not having time to play relationship counselor to a pair of idiots who made the bed they were lying in?"

Oliver doesn't think, doesn't speak, he's just there, covering her body with his and kissing her for all that he's worth. 

"I missed you too," she says between kisses, running her hands over his back and shoulders. "You have no idea how hard this has been."

He pushes himself up on his arms to stare at her.

"I have no idea?" He says, "This has been hell. And you know what? I lived through hell, so I know what I'm talking about."

"Poor baby," she says, scratching her fingernails over his scalp in that way that always seems to send shivers down his spine. "Life without me is that bad?"

"The worst," he declares, then drops his mouth to her neck, drinking in the taste and smell of her as he kisses his way along her skin. "I'm going to keep you here," he declares, "you are no longer allowed to leave. You can stay here, with me, in this bed. Forever."

Felicity laughs.

"Oliver, I have a job. Two, in fact."

"Billionaire," he says, simply. "I could buy you all the toys in the world and you could spend your days hacking into wherever you wanted, and your nights here. Like this. With me."

"Tempting," she admits, "but what about saving the city."

"Diggle can do it."

"Diggle has other priorities."

Oliver runs his tongue up the side of her neck, making her squirm and says onto her ear, "Really? More important than this?"

"To him at least," she says, "I think he's going to propose. To Carly."

Her voice is soft, happy for their friend.

"How do you know?"

"Oh he didn't ask me to go ring shopping or anything like that," Felicity says, "but you two never do follow my rules about clearing the browser history on the basement machines. Lots of jewellery sites there."

"Huh," Oliver says, "good for him."

He captures her lips with his own, kissing her deeply. One hand works at the tie of her coat, the other cups her head, keeping her mouth pressed to his. He's missed her so much and here she is. "I mean it though," he adds, "I can't go another month without you."

"There's only two weeks left in the plan," she says.

"Two weeks," he repeats, "surely as the owner of the company I could secure your services for two weeks."

"You don't pay me for those kind of services."

"Still," he says, "two weeks. I could send a note to that boss of yours, have you seconded to me, keep you here."

"It doesn't work like that Oliver," she says, but she's laughing, delighted at him.

"Well then," he says, "that's settled. Obviously I need to tie you to this bed and never let you go."

Felicity's eyes, already so dark with her enlarged pupils, seem to get even darker, the color of the irises almost entirely swallowed up by the dark centre. 

"Don't tempt me," she says, very serious. 

Oliver laughs and undoes the belt and buttons of her coat, lifting her up to push the material down her arms.

"You're eager."

"It's been a month Felicity," he points out, entirely reasonably. "29 days of not doing this."

She laughs as he kisses her nose.

"I can't get over you as a brunette," he admits. "It's odd."

"I can take it off," she replies, her hands reaching up towards the wig. 

"I don't know," he teases, "variety is the spice of life after all."

She fixes him with an unimpressed look.

"I think you've had more than enough variety for now," she says pointedly.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yes well," she grumbles, "perhaps I didn't realise how difficult it would be to see you in my news alerts every day kissing someone else."

"I didn't want to kiss anyone else," he replies, "you're the one who said it had to look real."

"So stop kissing them," she says, "you don't need to kiss them all."

"In the last month," he says, "I have kissed seven women who aren't you. Every time in front of photographers, and every time the photos came out you laughed at me."

"I only laughed so I didn't go online and destroy their credit ratings," Felicity says, petulantly.

"So jealous," he teases, nuzzling her skin.

"Imagine how you would feel if it was me."

And he tries not to, he does try, but suddenly he can see the mirror universe here, where she's being photographed walking out of clubs in the arms of another. He can't prevent the predatory noise he makes so instead he drops his mouth to her collarbone and sucks a hickey into her skin, determined to mark her as his.

"So jealous," she parrots back at him. "And what if I wanted to wear a low cut top tomorrow?"

"Wear it," he says, "let everyone see you're off the market."

"Is doesn't work like that for women," she sighs, "I'm already the slut that slept with the boss. A hickey won't improve my reputation."

"Tied to the bed," he reminds her, "just say yes."

"We can't," she says, "the plan is working. The only people who remember that I was with you are the people at work. And they're just jealous."

"Thea misses you," he says, "she just hit me with a magazine defending your honor."

Felicity snorts. It's a completely undignified sound but he loves it.

"Thea hit you," she giggles, "with a magazine?"

"I didn't see it coming," he admits, "she's got an arm on her."

Felicity laughs again, and he takes advantage of her distraction to roll them over and unzip the back of her mini dress.

She's still giggling as he pulls the material up and over her head in one move.

"Smooth," she says, "but aren't you a little overdressed?"

"We'll get to me," he says, "in a minute." He moves them again, laying her down on the covers and moving to kiss and touch all the pale skin now on display. 

Her hands fuss at her hair, pulling out hair grips and finally letting her blonde hair tumble down from under the wig.

"Much better," he says, reaching up to run his hands through her hair. "I missed this. I missed you."

"I missed you too."

She plucks at his shirt so he drags it off, and her hands come up to run over the skin of his chest. One nail scraps over a nipple pleasurably. 

He makes light work of the rest of her clothing, discarding her boots and socks and running his hands up her legs.  He slips her panties off as she unhooks her bra.

"You're still overdressed," she complains.

"Not for what I have in mind," he says dropping his mouth to her stomachs then kissing his way down her abdomen. "Now," he warns her, "you have to keep quiet. Thea doesn't know you're here and I don't want another assault by publication because she thinks I'm cheating on you."

"I can bite my lip," she grins, "I remember last time."

Oliver thinks back to the morning after the first night she spent in this bed. The awkwardness at the breakfast table as Thea raised her eyebrows pointedly and asked how they had slept. Felicity had blushed crimson, and even Oliver had felt an unaccustomed level of chagrin at the fact they had apparently not only woken but kept his sister awake until she gave up and moved to a guest room in another part of the house.

He had thought being caught by your parents was mortifying.  Apparently being overheard by your baby sister was far worse. 

"Keep that in mind," he said, and lowered his mouth to her sex.  

Felicity moans softly in the back of her throat. Her body shifts and twists and he's forced to bring up both of his hands to hold her hips in place. She gasps his name and he grins. She bites her lip hard enough he worries she'll draw blood and her hands fist on the covers, searching for purchase.

Her entire body is tense, his mouth making her scream without sound.

Really he's incredibly proud of himself.

He teases her with his tongue, caught between drawing out her pleasure as long as possible, and pushing her over the edge as quickly as he can.

But in the end all he can do is hang on. He sees her grabs for a pillow, bringing it down over her mouth, and then she explodes into orgasm. She keeps the cushion pressed down on her face so he keeps going, drawing the release out of her and teasing her towards a new one.

In the end she has to hit him with the pillow to make him move. He could gladly stay there for hours, bringing her over and over again until she collapsed. But her body is shivering and shaking with the multiple releases and she can’t take anymore.

He goes up on his elbows and smirks at her.

"Smug bastard," she says, "man I love you."

He registers her panicked freeze before he really hears the words. Felicity’s eyes have gone wide, her face shows her shock.

“When I say that,” she starts, but he shushes her.

“I love you,” he says. He’s never put the thought into words before, but it doesn’t surprise him.

“I love you too,” she says. She smiles, delighted. She reaches for him and he moves up her body, meeting her lips in what he can for the first time literally term a loving kiss.


	2. The server room

The air conditioning in the server room at Queen Consolidated is on high. It’s always on high. The servers need to be kept cool at all times.

Felicity knows this, but it annoys her anyway. She likes her sun dresses and her short skirts. She doesn’t like having to wrap a blanket around herself in order to stay warm. She gets the impression she looks not unlike a cocooned caterpillar with a laptop, which has never been either a life or style goal of hers.

But it’s the most secure connection in the building. The most secure connection she knows of, outside of the one she has set up in Verdant’s basement.

Admittedly, her home connection is not too shabby, but Oliver and John had vetoed her suggestion she work from there, paranoid that it could somehow be traced back to her. She’s not entirely sure why they trust her to maintain a clear connection for the club but not her own apartment, but they would not be dissuaded. The server room was the compromise everyone could agree on.

She sat on the floor in the back of the room in a spot about as far from the cold air vents as she could find. To begin with she’d worked from her tablet, but after the first night she’d brought a laptop and used the tablet as a second screen. She also brought a blanket.

And then, after the second night, a cushion to sit on and fingerless gloves to type in.

Felicity blows on her fingers, trying to warm them. There’s only so much circulation typing can restore.

Technically right now she doesn’t really need to be here. Neither Oliver nor John are out on mission tonight, instead they’re both in the club basement, training and planning, so she wants to be available if they need her. In the meantime she’s working on putting an accessible back door into the SCPD system. Something she can reuse without tripping the alarms and/or having to re-crack the system every time Oliver needs information.

“Felicity?” John says in her ear. “I’m calling it a night.”

She glances at the clock. It’s barely 10.

“That’s early.”

“Yeah,” he says, “Oliver was needed on the floor. I waited around but I’ve run out of things to sharpen.”

Felicity huffs a little at that.

“At least you get to do it in the warm,” she points out.

“I thought you were going to take a thermos of tea in there with you this time.”

“I can’t have liquids in here,” she chides, “I might spill.”

“You’re not clumsy. When was the last time you spilled something?”

“This morning,” she says, “on myself.”

“I take it back,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “You are clumsy.”

“Very,” she agrees.

“Goodbye Felicity,” John says, “don’t stay in the arctic all night.”

“I won’t,” she promises. She hears the soft click as John turns the radio off from his end, and reaches up to pull the ear piece out, then pauses. She could swear the radio’s off, but she can still hear the static of an open line.

“Hello?”

There’s no answer. She shrugs to herself, making a mental note to check the system tomorrow and make sure there aren’t any glitches. Her fingers are pulling the ear piece out, when she hears it.

“Felicity.”

She pauses, listening.

“Felicity.” The voice is soft, whispering. But there’s only one person it could be.

“Oliver?”

He chuckles, and she feels herself smile. Where is he? Is he here?

“Where are you?” She asks.

“I missed you. ” he says again, drawing the sound of the S out. “I wanted to see you.”

She looks around. There’s no one in sight. There’s never anyone in sight down here. Half the time she’s not even sure the rest of the IT department even know where this room is. It’s mythical to them, like dragons or bug free code.

“I miss you too,” she says. “But I can’t see you.”

“What was it you said at the casino,” he murmurs, “it feels good having me inside you?”

She can feel her cheeks burning.

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” she says, biting at her lip, “it’s true.”

“Every night since I found you in my room,” he says, “I’ve been disappointed that you aren’t there.” Felicity smiles at the memory. “I knew I should have tied you to the bed.”

“I have a job,” she says.

“Keep you there forever,” he says, “keep you all to myself.”

She nibbles on her lip, not sure what to say. She’s sitting in the middle of the freezing cold server room listening to the whir of fans around her and suddenly she feels too hot.

“I should have tied you to my bed,” he says, “had you at my mercy. I’d like to see how long I can touch you, tease you, keep you on the edge of release.”

Her breath comes heavier. Her eyes fall closed and she lets him paint a picture with words.

“I want to kiss every inch of you. Find all the hidden mysteries. I want to know if your right foot is more ticklish than your left. I want to find that precise spot on your neck that will make you go weak at the knees when I kiss you. I want to know all of you.”

“Oliver,” she says, but it comes out more like a gasp.

“My Felicity,” he says.

“I wish you were here,” she admits.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

Her eyes fly open and she looks around her, but the server room is empty.

“No one’s here.”

“No one you can see.”

She leans sideways to look down the line of the servers. Nothing to see. Nothing at all.

“There’s no one in this room apart from me,” she says.

“Ah,” and she can hear the grin from here, “I’m not in that room, but I am nearby.”

“Where?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teases, “or would you like me to keep talking.”

“I can’t have both?”

“You could have if you’d stayed in my bed,” he says, “but when I woke up you were gone.”

“I had to go to work.”

“You keep saying that,” he says, “I’m trying not to feel rejected.”

“Oliver,” she say, letting the teasing tone fall out out her voice. “I work for you.”

He laughs.

“I know, it’s my fault. Or my company’s at least.”

He sighs.

“I want to see you,” he says, “I came here to see you, but I forgot about the cameras.”

“There are cameras every where,” she agrees, then adds pointedly, “More got put up after the Hood attacked Moira Queen in her office.”

He swears, sounding genuinely annoyed, and she giggles.

She closes her laptop and slips it and the tablet into her bag. She stands up, keeping the blanket wrapped around her.

“I could meet you somewhere,” she says.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m surprised,” she says. She shoulders her bag and winds up the connector cable she was using. She’s a little surprised how they went from almost phone sex to complaints about security cameras, but she’s never been great at holding linear conversations at the best of times.

“I thought you were supposed to be at the club tonight,” she says as she slides her access card through the electronic lock and makes her way out of the server room. Instantly she feels warmer.

“I missed you,” he says petulantly.

“Poor baby,” she teases. “This is a little ridiculous though, foiled by your own cameras. Did you not think it through?”

“I thought about it plenty,” he says, “I have all sorts of thoughts.”

“You could tell me about them.”

“I could act on them.”

“Not in the office,” she says, “unless you want to end up a Youtube sensation.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m walking down the hall towards my office,” she says.

“Ah,” he says, “there’s a meeting room to your left.”

“Yes,” she says, noticing it.

“Go in there.”

“Okay, but what about the cameras?”

“Trust me.”

“I always do.”

She opens the meeting room door and steps inside. It’s pitch black - this is one of the internal meetings rooms with no external windows, so there’s no light coming in from outside. Instead two frosted windows look out onto the dimly lit corridor down which she’s just been walking. It’s a very basic room - just a table and chairs - and it only ever sees use when one of the developers needs absolute silence for something.

Her hand reaches for the lightswitch.

“No,” he says, “don’t do that. Step inside.”

She drops her her hand, and moves insider, closing the door behind her.

“What they can’t see,” he says, “they can’t record.”

“Okay,” she says. She can barely see anything in here. There’s no way one of the standard security cameras would be able to do better. They don’t have heat sensors or night vision or anything. They’re just basic cameras.

“Walk forward,” he says.

She obeys, moving forwards until she feels the edge of the table bump against her leg. She puts her bag down on it, lets the blanket slip off her shoulders.

Its a pleasent sensation; the woollen material running over the skin of her neck. Then she realises that the hairs on her neck are still on edge, even though the material is gone. Then she feels his breath.

His arms come down around her and his body presses up against her back.

“How?” She asks, luxuriating in the feel of him. “How did you avoid the cameras?”

“I came in through the roof,” he says, “we’re fine so long as we keep the lights off.”

“Smart,” she says, “but you do realise you could just have met me at my place?”

“Where’s the fun in that,” he says, pushing her cardigan off her shoulders. His mouth nuzzles and kisses the side of her neck, one of his hands is flat on her abdomen, holding her against him, and the other has dropped to the side of her thigh and is gathering the material of her skirt, lifting it up out of the way.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she says, “not in the office. If we get caught-”

“We won’t get caught,” he says.

She licks her lips. Her mouth is dry. His fingertips tickle her bare thigh as he bunches up the material of her skirt. He bites gently where her neck meets her shoulder and she shivers.

She turns in his arms, lifting her mouth to his.

“I missed you,” he says and she hears it twice - the radio transmission echoes in her ear, delayed by half a second.

“I missed you too.”

She kisses him, bringing up her arms around his neck, and his hands go to her waist, lifting her up so she sits on the edge of the table. Her knees come up and he steps in between them. She hooks her feet behind his legs to pull him closer.

It’s so dark that she can barely make out the shadow of him. Instead everything is touch and sound and taste. She can feel from the leather under her fingertips that he’s dressed as the Hood, her hand reaches to cup his cheek and she can feel the stickiness of the camouflage make up he wears around his eyes.

The cool material of his clothing presses against her skin. She can feel the line of the stitching rubbing on the sensitive skin of her thighs.

She feels his fingers unbutton the front of her dress, his fingertips brushing her skin.

His mouth moves down her neck, and she tilts back her head to allow him access. Her breath catches and she has to bite her lip, trying to keep quiet. His lips move over a particularly sensitive spot and she moans low in her throat.

“There it is,” he says against her skin, “there’s that spot I was looking for.”

She swallows, trying to keep quiet.

His hand slips inside the open front of her dress, his fingers curling around her side, his thumb rubbing over the flesh of her breast. She shivers involuntarily.

His other hand slides up her leg, coming to rest of her hip.

Her hands push at his jacket, searching for a way in, but his arms come in and deflect her arms away. She sits there, breathless, her dress open and his hands on her skin, her legs open and her feet hooked around him. She feels almost decadent, on display despite the darkness.

Oliver’s hands play over her skin, causing her to gasp and catch her breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his mouth close beside her ear.

“You can’t see me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, his hands move lower on her skin and she gasps again. “You’re always beautiful.”

He pushes at her hips, urging her to lift them and she does. His hands pull at her panties, slipping them off as she leans back on her hands.

He steps back to pull the material down her legs, then returns, pulling her close against him and kissing her furiously.

She takes advantage of the distraction of his hands in her hair to reach up and unfasten his jacket. She pushes her hands inside his jacket, letting her short nails scratch over the skin of his back. Oliver groans into her neck and she lifts her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

They’re pressed against each other, skin to skin. She pulls him against her and he rocks his hips into her. He runs a hand down her body, slips it between them and strokes.

“Oliver,” she gasps.

He pulls back and she knows that he’s grinning, even though she can’t see it.

He tilts his hand, pushing lower and slipping a finger inside her. Her insides clamp down as he rubs at her clit with his thumb.

“Oliver,” she moans, trying to keep her voice low but aware she’s becoming louder by the second.

“Shhh,” he whispers, then adds another finger and increasing the speed of his thumb.

“You’re not,” she says between gasps, “making it easy for me to keep quiet.”

He makes an amused noise, then his other hand comes up to cover her mouth, smothering her moans.

He adds a third finger and she groans behind the gag of his hand. His thumb presses down hard and his fingers curl, searching for her g-spot. Her entire body goes rigid when he finds it, and she explodes into orgasm, his hand doing relatively little to mute the sounds of her pleasure.

Felicity sags on the table, held up only by his hand on her face. Her breathing evens out, and she purses her lips to kiss the inside of his palm.

She straightens her spine, recovering herself, then her hands go to his belt, unfastening and unzipping. She slips her hands inside, running her fingers over his hip bones, pushing the material down.

“Felicity,” he says, but she’s already grasping his cock, using one hand along the length of him while the other drops to cup and squeeze his balls.

He shifts his hand on her face, so he’s holding her chin while he kisses her.

She urges his hips forward and slides him into her. He sinks all the way inside and she wraps her legs up around him.

He gasps into her mouth and he tilts her head down to suck at the skin of his neck.

His hands come down and grasp her hips, and they move together, finding an easy rhythm.

She buries her face in his shoulder, trying to muffle her cries. His hands on her hips pull her forward, until she’s sitting on the very edge of the table. Her hands are under his jacket, flat against the skin of his back. She digs her nails in and he groans softly.

He thrusts into her and she bites down on his collarbone. His hand moves around on her hip, starting to tease her clit again, push her back into orgasm.

Felicity leans her head back, biting down hard on her lip and letting the sensations wash over her. This pleasure’s not the same as before, there’s no intense climax, more just waves and waves crashing into her. She feels swept along, swept over, and as the waves recede she feels boneless. Her arms hand loosely around Oliver’s neck, his arms holding her up as he thrusts and follows her into climax.

She holds him to her as his body releases. It takes her a minute or two to steady her breathing, slow her heartbeat.

She’s never had a relationship like this, never experienced this kind of heady passion.

She’s certainly never had sex with anyone in a meeting room in her office before.

Oliver really is the exception to all of her pre-existing rules and habits.

He leans in to press his forehead against hers.

“You’re amazing,” he says, “I’m so happy I found you.”

“I love you too,” she replies. They don’t seem to use the actual words very often, but she knows what he means anyway.

He kisses her gently, cradling her face, then his hands run down her body one last time before he steps back, fastening his pants.

She sits there for a second, dress open, skin damp with sweat. She’s breathless and glowing; her skin tingles in the air conditioned coolness.

She finds the edges of her dress and starts to do up the buttons, then slides off the table. Her eyes have adjusted a little but it’s still pretty dark in here.

She has no idea where her underwear is.

“Here,” he says, and his hand comes up and presses material into hers.

“Thanks,” she says, and almost loses her balance as she goes to put panties back on.

“One more week,” he says, catching her easily. “One more week until I can see you every day.”

“We still have to be careful,” she says.

“We’ll be careful,” he promises, but he’s the man who just crawled through ceiling space to fuck her on a table in her office in the dark. She wonders if he is even aware of how many risks he just took. She’s really not complaining but Oliver Queen does seem to have his own particular way of viewing risk and reward. There’s no middle ground - he’s a creature of extremes.

Though she supposes it makes sense when you look at his history.

She smooths her hands over her hair - the pony tail is still pretty much in place. She’s presentable enough to walk out to her car and drive home.

But she doesn’t want to.

“In a week,” she says, “if we’re careful, do you want to come over? You could spend the night.”

“I’d like that,” he says, but he’s already climbing up onto the table top.

She looks up at him and she can’t see his face in this dim light, but she could swear he’s grinning at her as he climbs up, into the ceiling and out of sight.

And he’s gone.

She picks up her bag and the blanket and prepares herself for the walk back to her office to drop them off. Nothing has happened, she reminds herself. This is just an ordinary late night, fixing problems in the server room.

But she doesn’t run into any of the late night guards so all of her prepared excuses are unneeded.

As she starts the engine on her car she hears the click of the radio, coming back on.

“I forgot to say,” he says, sounding smugly satisfied, “I had a really great time tonight.”

It seems incongruous, but then so is he.

“Me too,” she says, “now go home and get some sleep. Next week cannot come fast enough.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and she hears the click of the radio disconnecting, but she keeps the ear piece in anyway all the way home. It really does feel like there’s part of him inside her when she wears it.

Even if it is just his voice.


	3. Clubbing

The plan is simple.

Verdant is a public place. If she enters with the crowd, she’ll be just one face amongst many. She knows the club well enough to slip away, and she has the security codes to get into the basement.

The problem is she has to blend in to do this, and blending in amongst Oliver's customers means dressing up, wearing her highest shoes and standing for twenty minutes in line outside.

She's also feeling paranoid enough that she's wearing the brunette wig she once wore to sneak into his room.

Just in case.

She's cold, her head itches, her feet ache and her coat is not warm enough to keep out the chill of the evening.

But even those complaints aren't enough to damper her enthusiasm.

Tonight she returns to work.

Tonight she returns to Oliver.

Oh they've had their moments these past 6 weeks, but he’s had even more public moments with other people, and their two actual private meetings both came at a high risk of discovery.

Even if she wouldn't change them for the world.

The line is moving slowly and Felicity curses the fact that she can’t just walk around to the staff entrance like she normally would. Or just walk to the front of the line. She knows most of the club staff by face if not by name, but she doesn't want to take the risk that if she approaches alone the Bouncers will see through her disguise and all the subterfuge will be for naught.

She's attached herself to the back of a group of giggling girls - the kind she's never really had a lot in common with - and she can't help but overhear how they plan how to meet and seduce Oliver.

On one level she’s comforted by the fact that the illusion has worked so well. On another she's really quite annoyed to hear that Oliver flirted with one of the group the previous week. Even if he did never call.

Felicity tries not to feel smug at that.

But when the bouncer waves the group - and her - to go in, she can't help but feel a little pleased with herself. 

She bypasses the cloakroom - she’ll need the coat for warmth in the basement - and walks out onto the floor.

She's never been one for this kind of club scene. Dinner out or a nice bottle of wine and a movie is much more her speed these days. But she did the drink and dance thing, especially at college, even if the music and dress code were very different from this, so she's not a compete fish out of water.

The club is busy. It's a Wednesday, so it's not really a big clubbing night, but this is Verdant, the newest hottest spot in town. The fact it's a school night isn't a good enough reason not to dance. 

At least not for this crowd.

Felicity moves past the rich kids, the minor celebrities and the fashionistas, slipping past couples and groups towards the back of the club.

She half expects Oliver to be walking the floor but he's nowhere to be seen.

She moves past the bar, heading for the rear of the club, but the crowd is thicker here, and as she pauses to let a large group move out of her way she feels a hand come down on her hip.

She's about to turn, issue a dismissive one-liner and move on, when she hears his voice in her ear.

“I've always loved you in red.”

Felicity grins.

“Not sure about the hair though. I thought blondes had more fun?”

Oliver’s hand on her hip slides down over her ass.

“Blondes are more noticeable,” she replies. They’re standing so close that she can feel his breath on her ear, but she's not looking at him, and this whole moment is charged with a electricity that she really wants to explore but she came here to work, goddammit, anonymously.

And Oliver groping her ass in the middle of his nightclub is pretty much the opposite of anonymous.

She risks a glance over her shoulder. He's got his nightclub owner persona firmly in place - smooth smile, well-cut suit, vaguely amused eyebrows.

And it's not that she finds any aspect of him unattractive, but the casual arrogance of this version is probably the least loveable of his many faces.

“I’ll see you later,” she says softy so no one else can hear, but she amps her body language up to dramatic rejection, tossing her hair as she walks away.

She doesn’t look but she suspects that there’s now more than a little real Oliver amusement breaking through the playboy shell, and that's a thought that makes her happy.

She reaches the basement door with no other impediments, takes a second to make sure no one is watching, then keys in her code and leaves the fallacy of the club behind her.

John is waiting by her desk.

“Felicity!” He says, striding forward to wrap her in a hug. He's in his bodyguard suit today, and she marvels for half a second how she end up in this life surrounded by gorgeous men in suits. “We missed you.” He says pointedly. “And you look great.”

“Got to blend in,” she says, seating herself at her desk and kicking off the shoes under the table.

“No,” he corrects her. "You look amazing, seriously.”

“John,” she chastises, “it's not as if you’ve never seen me in a dress.”

“A sight for sore eyes then,” he says. “He's been like a bear with a sore head for weeks.”

“Yeah,” she says, “sorry about that.”

“I'm still not convinced by this plan of yours,” he says, “but it does seem to have worked so far.”

She nods, but her hands are flying over the keyboard and half her attention is already inside the system.

“Same old Felicity,” John says, sounding amused. 

“Same old, same old,” she replies, wondering how the set-up got so out of sync in the less than 2 months she's been absent.

John puts a bottle of water down by her elbow, but doesn't say anything and soon enough she’s entirely consumed by her work, so much so that she knocks it over with her elbow, and is immediately thankful that he knows her well enough that the lid was still securely screwed in place.

Later, when the system health is finally back to what it should be, she leans back in her chair and stretches her arms over her head.

“I can't get over you not being blonde,” an unnoticed Oliver says from nearby and she jumps.

“Wig,” she says, spinning the chair to look at him. “You’ve seen me in it before.”

He's leaning against a nearby pillar, watching her. She takes in his relaxed stance and narrows her eyes.

“How long,” she asks, “have you been there?”

“Twenty minutes,” he shrugs.

“You've been watching me for twenty minutes?”

“You’re very watchable.”

She looks around. 

“Where's John?”

“Upstairs.”

“Why is John upstairs?”

“I asked him to give us some space.”

She blinks.

“And you used this space to watch me update the firewall?”

“You’re very watchable,” he repeats.

“I don't get it.”

“I know,” he says, pushing off the pillar and walking towards her, “that it might seem like I'm only interested in you for your body-”

“And my mad hacking skillz. With a Z.”

“And your mad hacking skillz with a Z,” he dutifully repeats, “but the truth of it is, I just want to be where you are. Everything else. All the sex. That's secondary.”

She doesn’t quite know what to say so she goes with levity.

“I feel almost insulted on behalf of all the sex,” she says, “I mean, I know we haven't seen each other much recently-”

“And whose fault is that?” He interrupts.

“But I thought,” she carries on, ignoring him, “that the sex was really pretty good. Damn good. And for you say it's secondary...”

“Felicity,” he says, pulling her up out of the chair and into his arms, “I'm trying to tell you something important here.”

“I don't know,” she says, lifting her arms to wrap them around his neck, “I think you might need to distract me with sex. The secondary sex.”

“I love you,” he says, “I've only ever loved two women in my life and both of them have been hurt because of me.”

“The only way you’re hurting me,” she says, playfully, “is by denying me the sex.”

“Felicity,” he complains.

“Fine Oliver I love you too,” she says, “I just spent a month and a half sitting on the cold floor of an icebox for you, and if that’s not love...”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

His hands are on her hips and he lifts and she sort of awkwardly half hops, half jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Now that's what I'm talking about,” she teases.

“Felicity,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, “what's gotten into you tonight?”

She sighs.

“Everything is so serious,” she admits. “I missed you so much it scared me. I want things to be easy for a while.”

“My life will never be easy,” he says. 

“Your lives you mean,” she points out. “The hood, the club, the playboy.” She sighs. “The man.”

He closes his eyes. His hands hold onto her ever so tightly.

“If you need to walk away,” he says.

“Are you kidding me?” She says immediately, “no. I love you. I just wish things could be a little easier. I wish I could sleep in your bed tonight.”

“Why can't you?”

“Kinda undermines the whole plan there Robin Hood.”

“You’re in disguise,” he says, “you've come to my house before.”

“It's not a good idea.”

“It's a great idea.”

“Felicity,” he says, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Don't argue with me. Come home with me. Thea would be thrilled.”

“But what about the press? What about the plan?”

“The plan worked so far,” he shrugs, “let’s test it. See if anyone notices that you’re you and not another decoy.”

“I don't know,” she worries.

“Felicity,” he says, “I love you. Come home with me.”

She looks at him, this man, this hero, this broken boy. She loves him. All of him. 

And before she can let her mind talk her out if it, she makes her decision.

“Yes.”


	4. Narration

Diggle drives them home.

Because it’s Diggle behind the wheel Felicity refuses to make out with him in the backseat. Oliver makes the point that the press might expect it but Felicity just hides her face behind a hand when confronted with photographers, and then starts talking to Diggle about AJ’s school in the car and Oliver is left to sit there and think about how different this relationship is from every one he’s had before.

Diggle meets his eyes in the mirror with a grin and Oliver shakes his head fondly.

“Surely at some point,” Felicity says, “someone is going to realise you don't need a bodyguard.”

“Haven't so far,” Diggle replies, “and if we keep kidnapping him publicly I'd say I've got some pretty good job security.”

“Or not,” Felicity says, “I’m not sure I’d want my son to be protected by a bodyguard who keeps letting him be kidnapped.”

“Diggle’s not employed by my mother anymore,” Oliver says. 

“Oh?”

Felicity kicks her shoes off and brings one foot up to rub at her sole. Oliver remembers the last time she wore these shoes around him, or didn't wear them, because that was the night he stopped her from going on a date with someone else.

He reaches out and pulls her foot into his lap. She starts a little but when he presses his thumb into the ball of her foot she relaxes and turns in the seat so both her feet rest on his legs.

“I’ve been paying Diggle’s salary since before the quake,” Oliver says.

“Yeah,” Diggle grins, “about that, is this a good time to ask for a raise?”

Felicity laughs but Oliver just shrugs.

“Whatever you want.”

Diggle meets his eyes in the mirror.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Oliver agrees, “it's only money.”

Diggle looks from him to Felicity.

“I guess the rich really are different.”

“I wish it was that easy to get a pay rise out of my boss,” Felicity replies. “And oh yes, right there.” She lets her eyes fall closed, her head back against the leather head rest.

“I own the company,” Oliver feels obliged to point out.

“I won't be able to keep a very low profile if you’re approving raises for me in the boardroom,” Felicity points out, “and I don't need one. I'd just like one.”

“It's only money,” Oliver repeats.

Felicity laughs, then moans as he apparently hits a sensitive spot on her foot. Oliver glances up at the mirror but Diggle is watching the road studiously, and Felicity is obviously enjoying this too much for him to stop.

He digs both thumbs into the knotted muscle and massages, trying to not let her soft sounds of pleasure have too much of an effect on him.

She sighs with disappointment when the car pulls up at the house.

“Seriously,” she says throatily, “you could go pro at that.”

“If the vigilantism doesn’t work out,” Diggle replies as he turns off the engine.

“Nice to know I have options,” Oliver says. He gets out before Diggle has a chance to, walking around the car to open the door for her.

“Uh uh,” he says as she goes to put her shoes on. “No undoing all my hard work.”

It's easy to lift her up in a bridal carry, but she shrieks a little as he does it. Behind her Diggle smirks.

“See you in the morning?”

“Very good sir,” Diggle replies, his grin and tone belying the serious words. 

Oliver carries Felicity up the steps into the house. It's easy for him. She's light in his arms. He thinks of the time, before the island, when he worked out to look good, but never had the strength to do this kind of idle gesture. He could lift Laurel and he had done so, but picking her up because her feet hurt, carrying her around as if she weighed nothing, that's something that only five years of pain and suffering and training have given him.

Felicity tucks her head into his shoulder and sighs.

“I missed this.”

“I don’t think we've ever done this before.”

“Funny,” she says, slapping lightly at his shoulder.

Oliver grins.

“I missed this too,” he says, “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, “I missed you too.”

The house is silent. Thea and Raisa having long since gone to bed. 

Oliver walks through the halls with Felicity in his arms.

“You can put me down,” she says.

“I could, but I don't want to.”

She lifts her head and narrows her eyes at him.

“Is this a nefarious plan?” She asks, “Is this where you reveal a basement full of dead wives?”

“You already know what’s in my basement.”

“That's the club, who knows what you have at home?”

“The basement here is mostly full of wine. And old garden furniture. But mostly wine.”

“You had me at wine,” she says, laying her head back down. 

He laughs, softly.

“I'm really tired,” she admits. 

“Must be the company.”

“John can be exhausting.”

He laughs and she smiles.

“I like the sound of your laugh,” she says. “Though now that I say it, that sounds all stalkery and not good.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, “I didn’t really laugh for a long time. It feels like I’m rediscovering it with you.”

She smiles. Her hand comes up to scratch behind his ear and it's like an electric current passes through his body. He can feel himself react. His arms tighten around her.

“I like the sound you make when I do that,” she says.

“I don't make a sound.”

“You do,” she says, “it's like a growly purr. Like a big cat.”

“I do not purr.”

She raises her eyebrows at him but doesn't press the point.

He reaches his bedroom door and she reaches down to turn the handle.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

He kicks the door closed behind him and carries her across the room, placing her on the bed.

She stretches out on the covers, working the kinks out of her back. Her hands stretch up over her head and he has a sudden thought.

“Do you remember what I told you last time you were here?”

“I love you?”

“I told you,” he says, keeping his voice low, “that I would tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

“Oliver,” she smiles, “I have work in the morning. In just over five hours in fact.”

“No, you don't,” he replies, “because Diggle is going to send an email saying I need help at the club and that you’re the only person I trust to do it, and you’re going to stay here and do exactly what I say.”

“Am I?”

“Yes you are.”

“Okay,” she says, sitting up on her knees on the bed. “I’ll play.”

“Alright,” he says, nodding to himself. “Unzip your dress.”

Felicity holds eye contact with him as she unzips the dress and it goes from being tight and form-fitting to loose material around her. Then she stops and waits.

“Take it off.”

She pulls the dress over her head and holds it out to him. He takes it and tosses it in the direction of a nearby chair.

“Come here.” She walks on he knees across the bed to where he stands. He pulls her tight against him with one hand while the other reaches up to pull at her wig.

It doesn't shift.

“Take that off.” 

Her hands come up and pull out grips, then lift the artificial hair off. Underneath her blonde locks are pinned down. 

“Let your hair down.”

She removes more grips and her hair tumbles down around her shoulders. Her runs a hand through, letting her curls wrap around his fingers.

She's so close to him. Her body pressed up against his, his hand on the naked skin of her back. Her underwear is black. It stands out against her pale skin. 

He kisses her, one hand holding her head in place while the other roams over her skin. She gasps against his mouth when his hand gropes her ass.

Her arms come up around him, her nails scratch at his scalp. He feels his heart pound, his blood rush. 

“On your knees,” he says and she pulls back, her cheeks pink, her pupils blown.

She slips off of the bed, maintaining eye contact and drops to her knees in front of him. The sight of her there, hair down, in her lingerie, flushed with arousal, makes him hard. Harder.

She looks him in the eye and very slowly licks her lips and opens her mouth. 

He unbuckles his belt and her hands come up, covering his. He lets her unfasten and unzip, her hands reaching inside his clothes to grasp his cock.

She stills, then looks up at him, waiting.

His mouth is dry and suddenly he can't think of how to say it.

“Felicity,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow then moves forward, taking him in her mouth.

One hand comes down on her head and the other reaches blindly for the pillar of the bed.

Felicity sucks his cock deep into her mouth, her lips wrapped around him. He keeps his hand in her hair but doesn't try and push her, just moves with her.

Her mouth feels amazing, hot and wet. He closes his eyes, savouring the sensations.

Her hands come up, running her short nails over his thighs and he has to catch his breath.

“No,” he says, “touch yourself.”

Felicity locks eyes with him again and runs her hand down her chest and abdomen then slips her fingers inside her own panties.

She moans softly and her mouth vibrates around him and he has to stop or this is going to be over way too soon.

He pushes her head back and stands for a second, panting, then he sweeps her up and tosses her on the bed.

She laughs, and he quickly strips off his clothing and joins her.

He captures her mouth for a kiss and runs his hands over her, unfastening her bra and removing her panties.

“What?” She teases, “no more narration?”

“Save something for tomorrow,” he replies, and slides two fingers inside her.

He rubs her clit with his thumb and she bucks, arching off the bed. Her entire body is taut and he leans in and locks his mouth over her nipple.

“Oliver,” she gasps, her hands tight on his shoulders and he needs no further encouragement, just rolls them over and thrusts home. 

After the slow start everything now is fast, breathless. He thrusts into her, hard and fast and she moans with every movement.

Mindful of Thea, asleep across the hall, he places a hand over her mouth and she nods, then sucks at his palm. She moves under him, lifts her legs to wrap around his waist and he grabs one knee and raises it to her chest, changing the angle so he can thrust even deeper into her.

He can tell she’s on the edge of a climax so he reaches down and rubs her clit until she spasms underneath him and he’s obliged to swallow her cries with a kiss. 

Less than a minute later he follows her into orgasm, dropping his head to bite at her shoulder as his body releases.

They lie together, sweaty and a little shaky. He has his face buried in her neck, and he can feel her hands ghosting over the muscles in his back.

It's perfect. Almost too good to be true. 

Oliver knows better than to trust things that are too good to be true, but for the moment he pushes his own fears and doubts away, rolling himself off her and pulling her to him so he can spoon up behind her.

“I love you,” she whispers drowsily. 

“I love you too.”

She falls asleep in his arms almost immediately, but his brain is wired, full of thoughts and worries and wonders. 

He lays there with Felicity in his arms and watches her sleep. So trusting. So innocent.

He can't stand the thought that his crusade might cause her to lose that. But he can't stand the thought of not having her either, and if these past weeks have shown anything it's that she's key to every part of his life, body and soul and he doesn't really think he could do any of this without her.


	5. The ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of The best part of a secret. Sorry it took so long to post...
> 
> Should I warn for light consensual bondage? Oh look at that I just did.

Oliver wakes up early. 

Felicity sleeps curled in on herself, but there’s always a hand or foot stretched out and pressed against him. As if she has to reassure herself that he’s there.

He’d almost forgotten that in the six weeks since they'd been able to wake up in the same bed.

He watches her sleep. The rise and fall of her chest, the golden curls scattered across his pillows, the half smile on her face. 

She truly is beautiful. 

Trying his best not to disturb her he retrieves his phone and sends Diggle a text to let Felicity’s boss know he needs her help at the club.

Then he pulls her into his arms and drifts back to sleep, curled around the woman he loves.

“Oh my God!”

Oliver jerks awake to see Thea standing at the end of the bed.

“You guys got back together! This is excellent!”

“Wuh?” Felicity opens her eyes blearily.

“Thea,” Oliver says, “go away.”

“No way,” his sister responds. “So is this a one-time thing or did you come back to save him from the league of skanks he’s been dating since you guys broke up? Please say league of skanks. Please.”

“Thea?” Felicity says, peering through her hair.

“Thea,” Oliver cajoles, “we’re sleeping.”

“No you’re not. And it’s like eight. Normal people have to go to work.”

“I’m not normal Thea.”

But the keyword has penetrated and Felicity is already sitting up, holding the sheets to her chest.

“What time is it? Eight?” She asks, “how late am I?”

“You’re not late,” he says, reaching for her. “Come back to bed.”

Felicity snatches her phone from the bedside table.

“I can not believe you let me sleep this late,” she says.

“See what you did?” Oliver glares at Thea.

“Oh my god,” Felicity says, "I’m so late and I don’t have anything to wear and I have to be at my desk in 27 minutes!”

“No, you don't,” Oliver says at the same time as Thea says, “I can lend you clothes.”

“Thank you!” Felicity beams. “Oliver, I'm sorry but I have to go.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do, I'm so late!”

“Felicity,” he says, reaching out to take her hand, “you don't. You have the day off. I arranged it. Or Diggle did which is the same thing. You don't have to go to work. Stay.”

Felicity stares at him.

“What did you do?” She says, her eyes narrowing.

“Exactly what I said I would do,” he says. “Remember?”

“Oliver.”

“Felicity.”

“Oliver,” she sighs, “you can't just do that. I have responsibilities.”

“I know,” he says, “but you’ve been working so hard and it's only one day. Stay with me.”

“It is a benefit of dating the boss,” Thea interjects.

“Go away, Thea,” Oliver says without looking away from Felicity.

“Charming!”

“Thea,” Oliver says as reasonably as he can, “I'm naked and I'm about to kiss Felicity. Go away or you can pay for your own damn therapy.”

Thea laughs, but she’s laughing as she leaves and as long as she’s leaving he doesn't mind being laughed at.

Oliver pulls Felicity back into bed, and she lets him.

“Are you sure?” She says, voicing her last protest. 

“Yes,” he says, kissing her, “stay.”

He kisses her and she melts in his arms.

“Please,” he adds. “Please stay.”

He can feel the smile on her face through the kiss.

“Okay,” she agrees.

He grins and pulls back from her. Then, thinking how much he doesn't want another visit from Thea right now he jumps out of bed and crosses the room to turn the key in the lock. 

His robe catches his eye hanging by the door and he grabs the material to carry back with him to the bed.

“Are you going somewhere?” Felicity asks him with a raised eyebrow.

“Just fulfilling my promises,” he says and slips the cloth belt of the robe out of the belt loops. “Give me your wrist.”

She turns big eyes on him and bites her lip. But it’s the good kind of lip biting, the anticipation kind, not the worrying kind.

She holds out both her wrists to him and he wraps the material around them, being careful not to tie it too tight or in any kind of knot she can't get out of if she wants to.

Then he pushes her backwards so she sprawls among the pillows and ties the other end of the cloth belt to the head of the bed.

“Are you happy?” She asks, “you’ve been talking about this for a while.”

“Very,” he says, then lowers himself to claim her lips. “Mine.”

Felicity arches her back, rubbing herself against him and he plunders her mouth with his own, his hands running up and down the skin of her sides, making her shiver.

“Mine,” he says again and moves his mouth down to suck that spot on her neck. 

Felicity gasps, mewls and moans and Oliver happily sets himself a challenge to hear every possible combination of noises she can make in the next hour.

He takes his time. Teasing and tasting, stroking and rubbing. He goes slow and fast, leaving her breathless and blushing.

She babbles words, nonsensical phrases, interspersed with moans.

After the second time he brings her with his mouth she lies spent in his bed, her body gleaming, hair weighed down with sweat.

He stokes her stomach idly with his fingertips and watches her.

“Oliver,” she murmurs. Her eyes are half closed.

“I'm here,” he leans in to kiss her forehead.

“Untie me,” she says. “It's my turn.”

Her eyes open and instead of the drowsiness he expects there is mischievousness, and so he undoes the loose knotting around her wrists and she pushes him backwards until he’s lying down and she’s straddling his waist.

He lets her hold him down, her hands on his wrists. He could twist, escape, turn this whole arrangement to his advantage but he doesn’t.

“Stay still,” she says and he nods.

She retrieves the cloth belt and wraps it around both of his wrists. She doesn’t tie it, and he's happy for that, just wraps it around and tucks the end into one of his hands so he has complete control of his own imprisonment.

He’d like to think that something like this wouldn't trigger him, but it good that she knows him well enough to leave that decision entirely up to him. He’s been tied down in far less pleasant circumstances too many times.

He likes to think his trauma is behind him, but it never really seems to be buried all that deep.

Felicity lowers her mouth to his ear.

“My turn,” she says and bites his earlobe.

Oliver’s breath catches and he holds on tight to the cloth in his hands, letting the illusion take.

Felicity slides down his body, her mouth licking, sucking and biting his skin. She spends a lot of time on his chest, teasing his nipples while her fingernails scrape over his thighs.

He relaxes into it. For all the time they've had together there’s never been an entire day spent in bed. Today will rectify that.

Her fingernails scratch his abdomen and his entire body shivers. 

“Mine,” she says and he knows she is grinning.

Then her mouth drops lower and she wraps her lips around his cock.

He loses his breath as the feel of her. He lets his eyes close and just revels in the sensations of her hot wet mouth.

Her fingertips play over his inner thighs, stroking and scratching dully, and he can't help but lift his hips up, pushing towards her mouth.

And she lets him, holding still while he thrusts up.

Then she sinks down, pushing at his hips with her hands and sucking him into her mouth as far as she can go.

He feels her throat around the head of his cock and thinks about Felicity, sweet innocent Felicity deep-throating him while he’s tied to his bed.

And he comes.

She can read him now and pulls back slightly. Her lips work at him, swallowing his release.

Oliver lets go of the cloth in his hands and his bonds fall away.

His entire body tingles with pleasure. His muscles twinge and ache.

He raises his head to see Felicity grinning at him. She wipes a hand over her mouth and he can't help himself, he reaches for her and drags her up the bed, pressing her body to his and kissing her for all he’s worth.

He can taste the salt on her lips and he wonders if she can taste herself on his.

But he doesn't ask. He just wraps her up in his arms and lets sleep take him.

* * *

When he wakes up next Felicity is sitting up in bed, wrapped in his robe and working on her tablet.

He watches her, noting that the robe isn't fastened and seems to suit the purpose of framing her body rather than covering it.

But she must have noticed some change in his breathing because she turns to him and smiles.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she grins.

“You want some breakfast?”

“Sure,” she says, “I was hungry but I didn't want to go looking without you. I didn't have a map and a compass to be sure I could find my way back.”

“The house isn’t that big.”

“This house is bigger than some countries.”

“Which countries?”

“I don't know,” she says, “the Vatican?”

“I've been there,” he says, “the Vatican is surprisingly large. For a museum.”

“Still kinda small for a country.”

“Still larger than this house,” he counters. “Come on.”

He pulls a pair of sweats from a drawer but doesn’t both with a t-shirt. Felicity reaches for her dress, but he stops her.

He unties the robe belt from the bed and threads it back around her waist, tying the robe closed around her.

“Won't I be cold?”

“Being a billionaire means never having to worry about heating bills,” he says, “besides, I like the idea of you in my robe. I want to think about this morning every time I see you.”

She blushes but doesn’t object and he takes her hand to lead her out of his room and down the corridor.

“Just how big is this house?”

“I don't know the square footage,” he admits, “but it's big.”

“Have you always lived here?”

“Well there were those five years,” he says, “but apart from that, yes, always.”

“Must be nice,” she says, “having a home to come back to.”

“Home is people,” he says, “home is Thea and my mother, not the house.” He squeezes her hand. “Home is you and Diggle. Sometimes the club basement feels more like home than these empty walls.”

“How do you feel about that?” She asks, turning wide eyes on him.

“I love you,” he says, “that's how I feel.”

She smiles and he kisses her in the hallway.

“Is there anyone else here?” She asks.

“Raisa will be around somewhere,” he says, “but I haven't seen her much recently. Thea’s at school. Diggle tends to meet me at the basement rather than the house these days. We’re about as alone as we can be.”

“All alone in this big house,” she says, “how will we pass the time.”

He grins at her, then notices where they are.

“Hey,” he says, “come with me.”

He leads her into his father’s study. The drapes are drawn so the room is dark, only a few slanting sun beams sneaking through gaps in the material.

He doesn't bother with a light, leaving her by the bookcase to cross to the desk.

“My grandmother died when I was eight,” he says, “Thea never got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” she says automatically, but he waves it off.

“She was sick, and she’d lost her husband two years before. She wanted to be with him. They had one of those love stories, sounded like it came from a movie.”

“Tell me.”

“Later,” he says, searching through desk drawers. “Anyway, she left me a lot of stuff. She was the big Queen family matriarch and she always said I would have to follow in her and my father’s footsteps.”

“There’s still time for that,” Felicity says.

“Maybe,” he admits, “but it's not like I don't have anything to do... Ah, here it is.”

He retrieves the small velvet box and pads back across the room to her.

“Oliver,” she says, and he can hear an edge of nervousness in her voice. “Why tell me this?”

“She would have liked you, my grandmother,” he says, “she was ahead of her time, the QC CEO for twenty years. Even my grandfather couldn’t keep up.”

“She sounds amazing,” Felicity says, “but I don't understand.”

“I'm not proposing,” he says, taking her hand, “I'm not. You and I, we’re not ready for that. So this isn't a ring.”

His eyes have adjusted and he can just about make out the stunned expression on her face. 

He looks around for the nearest shaft of sunlight then pulls her sideways into it.

“But I want you to know that there is a ring. And one day I’m going to give it to you.”

He opens the velvet box and holds it up to the light.

A diamond pendent sits on blue velvet. Sunlight hits it and spreads out, sending rainbow glints around the room.

“She had three rings,” he explains, “but she also had arthritis, and by the end she couldn't wear them. So she had one made into a pendant, this pendant. And I want you to have it.”

“Oliver,” Felicity says, absolutely shocked.

“Felicity,” he says, deadpan.

“You can't be serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

“It's a family heirloom.

“It’s mine to do with as I will. She left it to me. And I want you to wear it.”

“Oliver, I can’t.”

“You can,” he insists, “here, turn around.”

She bites her lips but she does so.

He sweeps her hair to one side and her hand comes up holding the blonde curls out of the way.

He fastens the necklace around her neck, the silver chain seems the perfect length, leaving the diamond nestled just below her throat.

Oliver presses a kiss to her shoulder and wraps his arms around her. Felicity lets go of her hair and her hands move to cover his.

“This is too much Oliver,” she says weakly.

“No,” he says, “it’s exactly the right amount. I can't be with you in public. Not until our work is done and the city is saved. But I can do this, give you this. And one day I’ll give you the ring that comes with it. I promise.”

“Oliver-”

“Felicity,” he says, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Say you’ll wear it.”

“Every day.”

“Good,” he says. He presses a kiss to her cheek. It’s an awkward angle but she turns her head and meets his lips with hers.

“Mine,” he says.

“Yours,” she agrees.

“Come on,” he says, “let's get some breakfast.”


End file.
